


Smokescreen

by unoriginal_liz



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unoriginal_liz/pseuds/unoriginal_liz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, and only once, he pretends to be Thomas as he smokes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smokescreen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Downton Charity Drive and Flippyspoon’s prompt - how Jimmy started smoking.

1.

To tell you the truth, it gives him something to do with his hands. _Friends_ , they’ve agreed, and Jimmy means to keep to that, he _does_ , but there’s no denying the awkwardness of it.

Thomas sits there on the bed, wearing Jimmy’s bruises all over his face and body – and it’s noble, of course it is…but it also feels like another intimacy Thomas has forced upon him. A touch, without touching - and somehow worse than the last time Thomas tried to touch him, because at least _that_ touch didn’t demand gratitude in exchange.

Thomas Barrow doesn’t demand his gratitude either – but his bravery does, so it’s all the same in the end.

There’s the newspaper, of course – not a _shield_ , precisely, but a _prop_. It’s something to refer to on his visits, something to cast his eyes over, to occupy his hands. When he puts that aside, there is nothing for his hands to do, except grip his knees, and there is nothing else to look at in that little room, besides Thomas. It feels stilted and unnatural. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, in spite of his best intentions.

And so, when Thomas lights up, and gestures to Jimmy for the ashtray on top of his dresser, Jimmy passes it to him, and says, casually, “Can I have one too, Mr Barrow?”

2.

Perhaps he shouldn’t admit it (even to himself), but it’s also a measure of time. Especially after Thomas recovers. 

It doesn’t take long to smoke a cigarette – ten minutes, Jimmy would say, though that’s being generous, and he knows it’s really closer to six, or maybe seven.

But it’s something he can do easily, and often. It’s a consistent quantity of time that he can give Thomas. It isn’t _much_ to give someone, Jimmy knows that – but what does it matter, when he can never give Thomas what he truly wants anyway?

It’s _something_ at least. It’s more than he does for anyone else. 

3.

“I see you’re picking up all sorts of habits from Mr Barrow, these days,” Miss O’ Brien says – but only once. It’s just a nasty aside as she pulls out her chair with a bad-tempered scrape and sits. 

Jimmy had had to brace himself, the first time he’d visited Thomas in his room…and again, the first time he’d sat next to him in the servant’s hall. He doesn’t know if he had expected anyone to say anything to him – though he’s sure everyone at least _thinks_ something about it privately – and _that_ makes him uncomfortable whenever it crosses his mind. Still, he’s been somewhat lulled by the lack of outward response so far – until Miss O’ Brien’s words cause all his muscles to suddenly tense.

Thomas flicks a quick glance at Jimmy, as if he half-expects Jimmy to immediately desert him. It forms a sharp contrast with the considered, deliberate stream of smoke Thomas blows out a moment later, and this somehow helps to steady Jimmy. He’s hardly going to fold in the first round.

Then Thomas says, with a pointed look at the garment in her lap, “We’d ask you to join us, Miss O’ Brien – but it seems as if you have work to do.” 

Miss O’ Brien doesn’t say anything further. Perhaps she never even meant to say that much – but Jimmy finds himself glad, in a way, that she did. 

Well, afterwards, in any case.

Sharing a cigarette together – it’s not _just_ time…it’s a sign of cameraderie too – as Miss O’ Brien’s words have made plain. Jimmy’s done that before, with valets and footmen at Lady Anstruther’s, with fellow soldiers during the war…but it always seemed an empty gesture to him – before, at least.

Miss O’ Brien smokes alone, these days.

4.

Jimmy has never seen the appeal, to be honest. Oh, it’s _all right_ , the way any number of things are all right – like French food, or collecting butterflies…all right, but not for him. 

He doesn’t see the fuss. It’s pleasant enough, each part of it – from first lighting up and inhaling, to the anticipation of holding the smoke in his mouth before taking another breath, pulling it down fully into his lungs, and then finally exhaling a slow grey stream into the air. It’s all _fine_. Even flicking the ash from the tip of the cigarette has a sort of satisfaction to it…

…but he could get almost the same feeling from watching someone else smoke. Everything Thomas does, from the way he holds the cigarette, draws it to his mouth, the unhurried exhalation, the way he sometimes tilts his chin up slightly…every movement is made with an odd combination of ease and weight that is, for some reason, always interesting to look at. 

If he watched Thomas, that is.

5.

When it crosses his mind (and it doesn’t, not often), he views it as an occasional vice – one of the many things Jimmy finds he can indulge in, without falling into the habit. He’s lucky that way, he supposes.

So it comes as a surprise to him the morning that he moves to sit next to Thomas, only for Thomas to turn to him and say, darkly, “If you’ve come scrounging, you can forget about it.”

“What?” Jimmy asks. He comes to an awkward halt, greeting dying on his lips. 

“I said, if you’ve come scrounging, you can think again,” Thomas repeats, deliberately. “If you fancy a smoke, you’ll have to go to the shop in the village, like the rest of us – because _this_ shop’s closed up.” 

His fingers beat a constant staccato pattern against the table, and Jimmy abruptly understands. “You’ve never run out.” He doesn’t bother to try and hide the amusement in his voice.

Thomas throws him a speaking look. “And if I have, I wonder whose fault that would be?”

“Your own, I’d say, for not keeping better track,” Jimmy replies smartly, because Thomas certainly hadn’t raised any objections during their card game last night. He watches Thomas’ fingers tap against the wood, before offering, “It’s my half day today – I can pop down to the village and get some for you, if you want.”

Thomas’ eyes meet his, then flick away. “All right,” he says, and then, obviously unwilling to let it go, “And you can buy _yourself_ a pack, while you’re at it.”

Jimmy half-shakes his head before finally dropping into the seat next to Thomas. _You’d die_ for me, he thinks, with something like fondness. _You’d let yourself get pulled into pieces for my sake – I’ve seen it – but somehow, sharing your cigarettes is too much to ask_. He shakes his head again, smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

6.

Thomas smokes Black Cats, but when Jimmy gets around to buying his first pack, he shies away from the familiar box. The yellow eyed cat stares unblinkingly out at him, but with an odd sort of lurch, he opts for a pack of Woodbines instead.

There’s no _reason_ for it of course. He’s smoked Thomas’ cigarettes quite freely – but, when it comes to purchasing his own…well…no harm in a bit of variety, is there? It’s a different brand of cigarettes - hardly disloyalty. 

Anyway, he’s always preferred the green Woodbine pack, with its intricate, colourful design. There’s nothing more to it.

7.

It occurs to him sometimes – late at night, mostly, when they talk, or during card games. He has a clear picture of it, in his mind – him and Thomas, hands busy, both breathing out smoke that dissipates into a single cloud. They sit at the table, at an appropriate distance, while above their heads, his breath curls lazily against Thomas’, melting so perfectly into his that no-one could ever tell the difference. A touch, without touching. 

It’s a ridiculous notion. But Jimmy finds that sometimes tiredness tinges the most innocent of acts with a dissoluteness that’s purely imaginary. 

8.

Once, and only once, he pretends to be Thomas as he smokes. In his bedroom, in his bed, he brings the cigarette to his lips – trying to affect Thomas’ smooth, deliberate movements. He breathes in, newly and oddly aware of the shape his mouth makes around the rolled paper. He takes the cigarette from his lips – trying to emulate the way Thomas holds it between his fingers – and breathes out, carefully. 

He sits for a moment, copying Thomas as exactly as he can, imagining –

Then he stubs the cigarette out, without finishing it.

9.

Although Lady Rose always hides away in odd corners, she smokes as if she’s performing for some unseen audience. Showy, or something.

She’s all right though – someone else to talk to who knows the world is bigger than Downton, or polishing silver, or slaving over fiddly pieces of puff pastry just so other people can feel superior even when they’re eating. Someone who has a bit of an interest in music, and dancing, and _life_.

Lady Rose talks about going to London with Lady Mary, and how, courtesy of Sir John Bullock, she plans on wrangling a visit to _The Lotus_ club. 

Jimmy whistles and shakes his head. “ _The Lotus_? Wish I could go.” He flicks ash onto the ground.

“Me too,” Lady Rose says, and she seems to mean it. “It’d be nice to have someone else to dance with, after I tire Sir John out. I wish I could think of some excuse to bring you with us.”

Jimmy snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Lady Rose rolls her eyes. “I don’t see why it should be such a big fuss. Not when we both know it would be perfectly innocent.”

She drops her cigarette, and grinds it out beneath her heel. “I’d better dash,” she says, and does just that, disappearing without even a glance over her shoulder to do – something or other.

Jimmy stays there for another moment. _Not when we both know it would be perfectly innocent_. It’s true, of course – he knows what he’s about, and he’s not going to risk his position by dallying with one of the family. Still – Lady Rose is a beautiful girl, and he’s never had to work to catch anyone’s attention, upstairs or down. 

They’re _friendly_ …but that Lady Rose can so easily classify it as that, and nothing more – even if she’s _right_ …it unsettles him for some odd reason.

Slowly, he makes his way back to the kitchens.

10.

The thing is – Ivy takes up some of his time now, which is as it should be, but he can still generally find a spare moment or two for Thomas. Six or seven minutes – or longer even, if they get caught in card games, or conversation. It’s separate to Ivy – they rarely mention her – and that’s as it should be. Their friendship, well, it’s not _connected_ to that kind of thing – is it? That’s the very _purpose_ of it. 

Thomas inhales, and exhales, every so often gesturing with his cigarette to underline whatever point he’s making. And across from him, Jimmy nods, cigarette held loosely between his fingers, and burning away to ash.

Still, it gives him something to do with his hands.


End file.
